


I Love the Way You Make Me Feel (But Only if I'm Being Honest)

by elleavantemm



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Biting, Jealousy, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Possessiveness, slight BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleavantemm/pseuds/elleavantemm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone ever bothered to ask, and Abel were being honest, he would admit that he actually likes the jealous possessiveness of Cain. Sometimes he pushes those buttons on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love the Way You Make Me Feel (But Only if I'm Being Honest)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in April of 2011.

If anyone ever happens to ask, and if Abel is being honest, he will admit that he actually likes how jealous and possessive Cain is with him, despite how repugnant he might find the behaviour; because the truth is that while these are traits that would normally turn Abel off, he’s never had someone _care_ about him – if it were ever appropriate to call what Cain did caring – in a romantic way; he’s never had someone who has _wanted_ him so ferociously.

He doesn’t always mean to do it on purpose, but sometimes Abel finds himself flirting when Cain is within earshot and he can tell the instant it’s too much: the air begins to crackle and within mere moments, Cain’s hand is clamping down on his shoulder, lips pressed firmly together, and glaring daggers – usually at Abel -- and Abel, unable to help himself, relishes in the delicious shiver that runs down his spine and the tightening of his flight suit as Cain impatiently leads him back to their dorm, pressing him face first against the door the moment is slides shut, hissing his displeasure into the blond’s ear.

“You need to stop,” Cain says in a tightly controlled voice, teeth snapping dangerously close to Abel’s ear.

“Stop what?” Abel asks, feigning innocence. The growl that Cain produces reverberates along Abel’s ribs, the darker man pressed so tightly up against him.

“Don’t play coy, Abel,” Cain admonishes, and this time his teeth close painfully on the tender lobe of Abel’s ear. “You knew exactly what you were doing back there. Everyone knows that you’re mine.” Abel’s tongue runs along the scar on his lip, the visual proof.

Abel twists in Cain’s grasp, turning within the circle of the other man’s arms and smirks. “And what if I don’t?” he asks, lowering his eyes and looking up at Cain through the dark fan of his lashes. “Stop, that is?”

Cain answers by presses his mouth against the smaller man’s, sucking on his lip and biting, holding fast despite the cry of pain. “I’m not going to hurt you, Abel,” Cain whispers with deadly calm. “But I can’t promise that I won’t start throwing punches at the next guy. You. Are. Mine.”

Abel hooks his right leg high up over Cain’s thigh, leaning in and pulling on the metal ring looped through his ear. “Why don’t you show me, hmm?” The foreplay, however good, has hit a plateau and Abel is anxious for Cain to pin him down and claim him.

Immediately Cain lets Abel go taking several steps away from the other man and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t _you_ show _me_? Hm?” The insinuation is clear; and Abel is willing to play the other man’s game.

Reaching behind him, he very slowly -- agonizingly slow – pulls down the zipper on his flight suit. He raises a flirty eyebrow at his fighter and slips one arm over his pale shoulder, making a show of drawing it down his arm and off before moving on to the next. Cain’s eyes burn as he appreciates the smooth planes of Abel’s angular chest. Turning around to face the wall, Abel cocks his hip to one side and pushes with both hands at his flight suit, bending towards the floor as the tight fabric slips over the curve of his ass. Cain makes a strangled noise, and Abel tosses the fighter a cheeky grin over his shoulder. He continues one leg at a time, still bent nearly in two. After kicking the flight suit aside, he maintains his position, wrapping his long fingers around his ankles and asking breathlessly, “Well?”

Cain’s steps are slow and heavy as he advances on the blond. The sound of his zipper being opened echoes loudly in the room. He presses up against Abel, hands cupping the roundness of his buttocks in his fingers and squeezing, short-trimmed fingernails digging into the pliant skin. The sensation of his coarse hair against Abel’s ass sends goose pimples rippling across Abel’s body.

The only sound in the room is their heavy breathing, and Abel waits -- tries to be patient -- for Cain to do something, _anything_. Cain takes time to rein himself in; he’s never seen Abel quite this cavalier during sex, never seen him so overtly confident – challenging. He’s incredibly turned on by it. “Abel,” he says, voice rough like sandpaper. Abel hears the slick noise of Cain sucking on his own fingers before they quickly press into him. He clenches against Cain’s fingers, holding them steady, adjusting to the intrusion. Cain waits impatiently, Abel can feel the tips of his fingers crook ever so slightly and he closes his eyes, letting out a breath quickly though his nose. He relaxes and Cain scissors his fingers quickly, pulling them out in one smooth motion before shoving them back in, nearly knocking Abel off balance.

“I am going to fuck you until you can’t walk,” Cain says. Abel teeters on the edge of letting Cain know just how much he wants to be _used_.

Abel’s eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a long, low moan. “Cain,” he whispers. “Please.”

“Tell me,” Cain growls. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Please,” Abel replies in a stronger voice; his need is obvious. “Please, Cain. _Fuck me_.”

Cain pulls his fingers out quickly and Abel gasps; but then the blunt tip of Cain’s cock is pushing against him and pressing all the air out of Abel’s lungs. The pace is relentless; Abel lets go of his ankle to brace himself against the wall, and Cain continues to pound into him. “Is this what you wanted?” Cain asks, voice filled with a mix of lust and derision.

“Yes,” Abel answers. “Yes, god yes.”

Cain clicks his tongue, “Tch. You’re such a slut, Abel. Walking around the station like my very proximity sickens you, but behind closed doors…” he emphasizes his point with a rough thrust of his hips and Abel’s other hand shoots up to brace against the wall. “Fucking slut,” Cain repeats.

Abel’s face is hot with the shame of Cain’s statement; ever since the first time with Cain there’s been little else on his mind: the memory of sharp teeth breaking skin; the feel of over-fullness; the feel of his own slick release coating his sweaty skin. The truth of Cain’s words is like a brand.

“Please,” Abel moans again and Cain is thrusting into the other man in such rough strokes that the wall shakes and Abel is sobbing, begging Cain to go faster, deeper, harder. He wants the other man’s teeth on his shoulder, his blunt nails digging into the skin of his side; he wants visual proof of Cain’s ownership in places only he can see.

As Cain’s thrusts become erratic, Abel slips one hand down to grip his own cock, slick and messy with fluids. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Cain orders and he grabs Abel’s hand forcing it back against the wall. “You don’t deserve it.” It’s silent after that, nothing but the wet smack of skin against skin. Abel bites his lip to keep in all that he wants to let out, and Cain fucks for all he’s worth until with a broken cry he pulls out suddenly coming hot and slick across Abel’s back.

Behind Abel grows cold quickly; he listens as Cain walks away, his feet shuffling softly on the carpet of the room. He doesn’t move from his position, knows that if he does Cain will reprimand him; this is his punishment. Cain’s denial of Abel’s release is his sadistic punishment for Abel’s flirting, his taunting, his flagrant disregard for Cain’s ownership.

Time passes; Abel is still bent with his hands against the wall, cock heavy and hard between his spread thighs and Cain’s come cold and congealing against his back. He listens to the hiss of the shower and the click of the glass door closing, and still he doesn’t move. If anything, the waiting makes him harder, more aroused; if he waits until Cain says so, pays his penance for his sins, it will make it all the better. He feels ashamed knowing this of himself; filled with shame because while he fights for Cain to treat him as an equal, as something more than a mere possession, it is the possession that keeps him wound tight -- keeps him coming back for more.

When Cain exits the bathroom, Abel’s arms are heavy and achy from holding his position for so long. The other man doesn’t acknowledge him as he moves about the room, though he makes a point of walking close by, brushing against Abel ever so slightly. Abel’s nerves begin to fray. The rustle of the bed sheets cause him to close his eyes, afraid that Cain might leave him like this all night. There is a pregnant pause before Cain releases a heavy sigh and says, “Come to bed,” and Abel looks over his shoulder at the other man, unsure. Cain clucks his tongue again and asks in annoyance, “You want to stay there all night?”

One by one, Abel lowers his hands and very carefully stands up, reaching his arms over his head to stretch the stiff muscles and get the blood moving again. His cock, still hard, juts out from his body. “You can touch yourself,” Cain says casually, but Abel hesitates. He wants to come so badly, but he _wants_ things from Cain – he needs to be marked.

“Now what?” his voice is laced with irritation.

“Please,” Abel whispers and Cain’s brows furrow together.

“Please what?”

Abel is afraid to say what he wants out loud. Cain holds all the cards and there is always the possibility that he’ll say no.. “I—I want…” He swallows thickly, closing his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. “I want you to… to mark me.”

Cain sits up in the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dimness of the room. “Come here,” he demands and Abel moves to him quickly. “Lay down.”

 _This_ , Abel thinks, _this is what I have really wanted all along_. The sheets are rough against his sensitive skin, and the brushes against his sensitive cock make him gasp. Not yet. Cain swings a leg over Abel’s hip and sits on his thighs. His eyes are speculative and his mouth wears a knowing smirk.

“Did you have anywhere in mind?”

Abel wishes he didn’t have to say these things out loud; wishes that Cain would ignore his need to mash all of Abel’s buttons at once, but he needs this. “M—my shoulder,” Abel whispers. He turns his head into the pillow feeling suddenly embarrassed and terribly exposed.

Cain leans down, arms framing the other man’s head and he poises his mouth over the fleshy curve of Abel’s throat. “Right here?” he asks rakishly. He moves to the gentle slope of Abel’s neck, “or how about here?”

Abel swallows and Cain moves lower, hovering over the swell of his Adam’s apple. “What about here?”

“God, anywhere; please.”

Cain sinks his teeth into the curve of Abel’s shoulder, not stopping until the blond cries out in pain. He keeps going until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth and Abel is sobbing and coming in streaks against his stomach.

As Abel comes down from his orgasm, Cain licks and sucks at the wound, already turning a deep purple around the edges, smearing the dark red across the pale canvas of Abel’s skin. “Satisfied?” Cain asks, but the other man is beyond words, chest heaving, eyes closed tight.

It’s a great many minutes before Abel can find the strength to move. He opens his eyes and Cain is watching him, eyes dark and intent, corner of his mouth still glittering with Abel’s blood. “Thank you,” Abel says, and Cain says nothing in response, rolling over in the bed.

Another moment passes; Cain’s voice drifts over his shoulder. “Go take a shower and then get some sleep.” The words are like approbation and Abel knows that he’s been forgiven.


End file.
